


In The Wind

by butterflybooks



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3105491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflybooks/pseuds/butterflybooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>White Collar AU:</p><p>It really does start off like any other case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Wind

**Author's Note:**

> My day for posting unfinished things. In fairness this is not unfinished, but is unlikely to have its intended sequels.
> 
> Warnings for swearing, theft, mentions of human trafficking... think that's it.

It really does start off as just another case.

The first time Blaine Anderson hears Kurt Hummel’s name is in a conference room. He then has a considerably sized file placed down in front of him. Kurt Hummel is named as one of the suspects in the infamous Streigler con, which is noteworthy in itself, but not necessarily outstanding.

Agent Anderson does get a lot of files after all.

It’s only later when he goes over the file that he realises some of the guy’s talents – and he has a lot – outstrip any of those he has seen. But all this really does is infuse him with a greater desire to catch him.

(They don’t get anything on him for the Streigler con. They eventually catch the perpetrators – at least some of them – but they all remain tight-lipped on the subject of Kurt Hummel).

Still, from then on Blaine takes an active interest in his case, he follows all the cases he’s a suspect in (there are a lot). He begins to think of him like water; it’s an odd thought to have about a criminal you’re supposedly chasing, but there it is. Trying to catch him is like trying to hold water with your bare hands and he glides in and out of trouble with the ease of flying droplets.

Here’s the thing about Blaine Anderson, he sees every person as a puzzle, a mystery to be solved. And he’s determined to puzzle Kurt Hummel out. And then he’ll lock him up. You know, for the sake of tying up loose ends.

  
It really does start off as just another tail.

It’s interesting, but Kurt has never really paid all that much attention to the FBI before. He’s never really been on their radar – until he is. He’s not aware of it until Puck points it out to him. Puck isn’t his partner – Kurt Hummel doesn’t do partners – but he’s been on a few jobs with him and somewhere along the way Puck assigned himself as his protector, which would be kind of annoying, only Puck often has really useful information.

For instance: the Feds.

It’s a simple job. All they’re doing is slipping past a few security details in order to get to a bank vault; Kurt would do it on his own, only he’s found that when you’re going into a dead end, it’s good to have back-up. So Puck waits out front while he charms his way past security – he’s got a winning smile and an innocent face and he’s not above using either of them – and makes his way to the vault. It’s only one vault he’s stealing from today. It’s good to keep it small; also Kurt only steals from people who deserve it. It’s a matter of principle.

Puck laughs at his principles, but Puck wanted to bring a gun, so.

Anyway, Kurt is good, but bank thefts are not his forte, and he was working from an old blueprint…

He sets off an alarm.

Bank vaults apparently go into lockdown when that happens.

Kurt has never been very good with small spaces. Which is why he is very good at escape routes.

Puck is waiting for him outside the building.

“Jesus, dude,” Puck looks at him like he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with him. Kurt can sympathise. He has that feeling quite often around Puck. “What the hell?” He looks around. “We need to get out of here.”

They’re at the side of the building but people are swarming the front. “Better idea,” is all Kurt says before pulling out of Puck’s grasp and making his way to the crowd of people.

“Are you mad?” Puck hisses from behind him. “The fucking feds are here, man.”

That gives Kurt pause. “Feds?”

“Yes, dude. Don’t you ever listen? They’ve been on your trail for months.”

Kurt is silent for a moment before his face breaks out in a huge grin. “Well at least now I know I’ve made it.”

He steps out into the open, even though he can still hear Puck hissing his name behind him. He sizes up the first FBI agent he sees. The man can’t be more than a few years older than him; he looks harried and slightly worried. Kurt feels a brief flash of sympathy for him – working in law enforcement can’t be easy (especially when you’re chasing him, he thinks with a smirk) – before he schools his expression into one of dazed bewilderment and staggers up to him.

He grips the fed’s arm and says in a panicked voice, “Oh my God, what happened?” He looks every inch the panicked civilian and he’s slightly proud of himself (Kurt did used to want to be on Broadway, after all).

The fed lays a comforting arm on his shoulder and his expression is kindly as he says, “I’m afraid an alarm was set off in the bank; we suspect we know who did it. We’re currently looking into how much has been taken.”

Kurt puts a hand to his face and thinks that this agent is very attractive even if he is wearing an awful suit. “I’ve got an account with them, oh God.” He pauses as though a thought has suddenly struck him. “You know who did it?”

A smile that Kurt doesn’t understand flits over the agent’s face. “We’re fairly certain.”

“And you’re close to catching him?”

A brief frown that Kurt clearly should not have caught crosses his face. “Yes, there’s no need to worry.”

Good with civilians. Knows when to lie.

Interesting.

“Oh, well, I’d best go check-” Kurt waves his hand to encompass God knows what, but the agents nods. “Thank you for all your help, agent…?”

“Anderson, here, let me give you my card. If you have any problems with this please let me know.”

As he takes the card, Kurt’s pretty sure he knows why he’s been given it. He’s pretty and he’s not above using it to his advantage.

“Thank you Agent Anderson. It was a pleasure.”

Agent – Kurt checks the card – Blaine Anderson turns and walks away. Kurt tilts his head. Nice ass.

 

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?”

“Language, Noah.”

“Do you know what could have happened? And don’t call me Noah.”

“I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me. Your reluctance to accept your given name and name yourself after a fairy continues to baffle me.”

“You could have been arrested. And you’re not making me read that Shakespeare shit.” A raised eyebrow. “Again.”

“I wasn’t. I knew they hadn’t had a visual on me so I was safe. And it’s not my fault you cried at Romeo and Juliet. You realize that’s meant to be an ironic portrayal of infatuation?”

“Whatever, man, those two had only each other.” Puck sighs. “Just because you’re good doesn’t mean you’re invincible. You can’t think with your dick all the time.”

“It works fairly well for you. And who says I was thinking with my dick? I now know the name of the lead agent, and that he’s got no clue how to catch me.” And, all right, Kurt might preen a little at that, but damn, it’s good to be good at something.

“I saw how you were looking at him. My God, I have to get the reckless one.”

“I have an appreciation for the male form. And in what way did you ever get me?”

“No. I have an appreciation for the male form, you want to fuck him up against a wall.”

“I want you to replay that sentence in your head and tell me what part of it makes you sound gay.”

“Fuck off.”

  
It is entirely unprofessional to give out your cards to members of the public randomly (this is something Blaine learnt when he was new and was very proud of having a card and so gave them out to every passing street person. Apparently very few people have any idea of what the FBI actually do.) and so Blaine really has no excuse for doing it. But, damn. If that hadn’t been the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.

Blaine doesn’t get much of a chance to date. His job is very demanding and his dad keeps trying to set him up with women. He’s never felt much of a need to date, per se. But he knows that he wants to see that man again.

He looks up at a knock on his door. Brittany is standing there. Brittany, who is a very sweet girl, but Blaine can’t quite figure out how she passed the exams to get in here, but she does sometimes make oddly astute observations so he can see why they keep her around.

“They sent me up here with a file. And they said,” her face screws up with concentration. “That the first visual on Kurt Hummel was found today. They’re pretty sure he was seen leaving with that guy who did all those heists and signed himself Puckzilla.”

“Right,” Blaine winces. That had been a particularly painful case. Not only because after weeks of collecting evidence, it was thrown out of court, but: Puckzilla? Really?

“Anyway, that’s what I was meant to tell you.” Brittany turns to leave.

“Brittany?” Blaine says in a patient tone. “File?”

“Right.” She hands it over to him, but then comes round his desk to look over his shoulder. She takes out one grainy, black and white shot. “See here, that’s Kurt and there’s Puckzilla.” It’s either lack of understanding or impressive self control which makes Brittany say that with a straight face.

“Right.” He says slowly. It’s not much of a picture, but there’s something familiar about the stance, something Blaine can’t quite place.

“And then the lab guys took his face and blew it up. He’s pretty.”

Brittany takes another picture out the file. This one’s fully coloured, with some genius that Blaine will never understand. Two beautiful eyes stare up at him.

“Pretty,” he murmurs faintly.

Shit.

 

In the year that follows, Blaine Anderson leads a manhunt on Kurt Hummel. He is chosen as one of the best agents and heads up his own division in White Collar crime. He neglects to mention that he has met Kurt before – and that he gave him his number.

He doesn’t know if that’s the kind of thing that could get him fired, but he doesn’t particularly want to find out.

It’s not an issue until one particular phone call in late December. Blaine is staying late in the office; snow is falling outside and most people have gone home in an attempt to beat the rush. He picks up his work phone without a second thought and gives his customary greeting.

“Agent Anderson, White Collar crime.”

“Oh, I know.”

That voice, that soft, musical voice. It can’t be.

“Kurt Hummel?” He asks tentatively.

“Not quite as dumb as your blundering attempts to catch me would suggest, then.” Blaine hears a laugh at the end of the line. “Although, I have to say you’ve come the closest.”

“I’m just getting started,” Blaine says.

“Does it normally take you a year to get started?” Kurt’s tone is light, polite, as though making a genuine inquiry.

Blaine smiles, doesn’t answer. “Does it normally take you a year to call someone back?”

Kurt’s laugh this time is high, surprised. “Do you know?” he says. “FBI agents don’t normally give me their numbers.” He pauses. “I assume you’re trying to track this call.”

Blaine is. “Nope.”

“Knows when to lie,” Kurt murmurs, almost to himself. “It’s no use, you know.”

“Why are you calling?”

“Just checking in. Hope you didn’t take that last joke to heart.”

That last joke was when Kurt had sent an entire team to an abandoned warehouse whilst he was on the other side of town, robbing another one.

“Was that a confession?”

“God no. I was referring to the rubber chicken I sent you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Blaine rolls his eyes. So that was what that was about. “Thought you stole art, anyway.”

“Allegedly, allegedly stole art. And fashion is art. Although judging by the suits you wear you’re still shopping in the finger painting section.”

“My suits are hard-wearing and practical.”

“Oh my God. You need help. It’s unfortunate I’m too busy to give it you.”

“Busy doing what exactly?” The triangulation signal is showing three places and none of them are in the country.

“Nice try, agent Anderson. Merry Christmas.”

There’s the beep of a dial tone.

“Merry Christmas,” Blaine murmurs into the silence as he places the phone down.

 

Kurt sends cards. It’s nice.

It’s also a little odd. And kind of embarrassing.

Luckily not many people know about the cards, but Blaine rather stupidly mentioned it at a meeting and has never heard the end of it from Santana.

“Isn’t it odd,” she remarks, sounding for all the world as though this is a simple observation. “That your longest relationship is with a wanted criminal.”

Blaine tells her they’re not in a relationship and that she should mind her own business.

Santana does not. Even though she is technically below him on the chain of command, Santana rarely ever listens to him.

She is also kind of right.

He realises – rather depressingly – that he in fact knows Kurt Hummel better than he knows anyone else. He knows everything from his favourite colour (powder blue) to his shoe size (size 11). He knows what he’s been doing recently (stealing art from a museum in Paris, now if only he could prove it) and he knows who he hangs out with (one thing he doesn’t understand is the association with Noah Puckerman, for such a refined criminal, it just doesn’t make sense).

He supposes it’s natural, really, that he ends up respecting him.

Yes, he’s a criminal. Yes, he has done very bad things, probably for not entirely pure reasons either. He’s not a good person.

But, by God, he’s a good criminal.

His work is refined, intricate, his forgeries are almost indistinguishable from the real thing and he has clearly honed the craft of a heist to a fine art. And if he’s slipped up anywhere, then Blaine certainly hasn’t found it yet.

He’s not a criminal he can entirely hate, either, which is something Blaine finds a little disconcerting. But Hummel’s never been involved in anything resembling a violent operation. He’s famed for having a disliking for guns and violence within his field – which is rare and probably would be treated with disdain were it not for his considerable success. Also – and Blaine can’t prove this – he’s fairly certain several anonymous tip-offs about other criminals (most involved in violence and assault) have come from him.

Let’s just say Blaine recognises the handwriting.

  
The next time they meet face to face is surprisingly muted; there are no large explosions or high speed chases; there aren’t even – unfortunately – any arrests. It’s a stake-out, which are famed for being the dullest task of an FBI agent save paperwork, and Blaine is alone in the van (he really shouldn’t be, but Mike’s stepped out in order to get them both food). He hears the door of the van opening and closing but doesn’t glance up from his paper as he says:

“You’d better not have brought me salad again.”

“Hello.”

The voice is soft, musical; one could almost believe they were safe.

Shit.

Blaine is up and out of his seat in a heartbeat, drawing his gun and pointing as he comes face to face with Kurt Hummel. He’s holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

“No guns. I come in peace.”

“Really,” Blaine says, not lowering his weapon. “You, a wanted criminal, stroll into an FBI surveillance van in peace.”

“Surveillance van, is that what this is? When I saw the other man come out I thought it just looked like a whole lot of fun.” Hummel raises his eyebrows and Blaine repositions his gun. He sighs. “But yes, I come in peace.” Another sigh. “I need your help.”

His hands are still raised; Blaine lowers his gun but not his guard.

Kurt gestures to the chair Mike’s just vacated. “May I?”

Blaine waves his hand in acquiesance. “Of course. "

You never quite lose those private school manners.

Kurt looks amused, but nods in thanks and takes a seat. He perches on it, leans frward and glances around. He reminds Blaine of a small bird, always ready to fly.

This is a very, very strange situation to find himself in.

"You need my help."

"Yes."

"Right. What with?"

Kurt shifts uncomfortably on his chair. It is a very small van and he smells of apple and mint. And another smell that he can't quite put his finger on. It is intoxicating.

No. Bad. Focus.

"I'm... in trouble."

"You are a criminal." Blaine says, and he knows exactly which ne of them he is reminding. "You are always in trouble. At this very moment you are being watched by the FBI."

"No. Real trouble."

Blaine is a little offended.

"And I'm an alleged criminal."

"Sure."

"There is a group. I have their names. I can't tell you how I know-"

"Probably because it would blow the whole 'alleged' thing you have going on."

"But they're involved in sex trafficking."

Blaine's eyes widen. "That's not really. We don't... We don't- I'm part of the White Collar-"

"I know. But I thought you could pass it on."

This is all very odd. It is setting off alarm bells. "Why can't you report them yourself?"

Kurt gives him a look that conveys how idiotic he finds that question. "Aside from the obvious, I don't have proof. And they would want to kill me." He tilts his head to the side, considering. "More than they do already."

"Why are you bringing this to me?"

"Because I need you to keep quiet about where you got this from, and I've got a feeling you're good at that. And because you are the closest anyone has ever been to catching, well," He shrugs. "Me. So you're good."

"Think I'll succeed?"

A ghost of a smile. "You're not that good." Kurt stands up, but bends over in the cramped space and presses a piece of paper into Blaine's hand. "Succeed in this instead."

There is a moment then. And perhaps it is just Blaine's imagination. But there is a moment, with Kurt's hand over his, that they look at each other and think-

And think-

It's gone as soon as Kurt lets go.

"Oh," Kurt says as he opens the van door. "And look out for swallows, agent."

-

Swallows end up being the symbol of a drugs ring. They are guilty of forgery, so Blaine gets to take the credit for that one.

The names that Kurt gave are caught. Most of them, anyway.

The swallows, though. Blaine isn't entirely sure whether Kurt meant the drugs ring or the folded paper swallow that was left on the van desk.

He keeps an eye on the sex-trafficking case. The intel is good (he is not surprised) and the case is as successful as they ever are. The guys in organised crime take him out for a beer before taking all the credit, so he can't complain too much.

-

He cracks Kurt Hummel the way he cracks all good criminals. Patience and a good helping of creativity when it comes to method.

He finds his evidence through a complex series of bank transfers that aren't quite covered as well as they should be, and a cheque sent to Ohio that he found by making his team go through every bag of mail in the New York area. He was not particularly popular that month. Right up until they found the evidence, anyway.

And then. Well then it's just the chase.

-

Kurt Hummel sits opposite him and regards him from across the visitor's table. Blaine is not sure why he is here, except...

"It's called a work release."

 

 


End file.
